


Mr. Rhodes Was Right

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [23]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, Not Avengers: Endgame Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony is the Best Dad, avengers endgame never heard of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18722005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: “Uh, hulloh?”Tony flinches at the voice coming from the ceiling.  “Hey, bud?”“Uhh. Hi, Ton-dy,” Peter croaks, then hacks loudly.  Too loudly and too wetly.





	Mr. Rhodes Was Right

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: 
> 
>  
> 
> Wow, I can't believe Endgame ended when Peter activated Instant Kill!
> 
> Seriously, if you follow me, you know how I feel about it. And I will absolutely not be following suit--unless I do the fix-it I have the barest inkling of an idea for--and frankly I don't need to, because between the in-movie mess of time travel, and their inconsistent explanations in interviews after the release, I'm fairly sure that by their own logic the last 1/3 of the movie never happened. Literally the only good thing in that movie is that Tony's desire to see Peter again made him save the universe.
> 
> This is by far not my best effort, and is pretty sub-par in my own mind, but it was kind of like a palate cleanser for me, the water cracker after that piece of aged, intense Brie that everyone swears if SO GOOD but really just tastes like ammonia and smells like rotten cabbage, before you can dive in to the deliciously creamy fresh mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto. You know, how you love Brie, so you try it expecting to love it, but it's so old it tastes like garbage and everyone else at the table is crazy and don't realize it was off until their stomachs start rumbling a day or two later? That. And don't worry, more and more people's stomachs are starting to rumble.
> 
> This is out of the main order of time in this series, and is a follow up to something Rhodey mentions in [Baby Bird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135032/chapters/42878633). It's not necessary to read, but will give a little background.
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming that mostly consists of HOW BADLY THEY FUCKED UP follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

“Uh, hulloh?”

Tony flinches at the voice coming from the ceiling. “Hey, bud?”

“Uhh. Hi, Ton-dy,” Peter croaks, then hacks loudly. Too loudly and too wetly.

Tony smiles in spite of himself; the kid has finally, _finally_ , started calling him Tony to his face. It was way too long coming, but apparently shipping Peter off to Massachusetts was the seismic shift that was needed for that milestone.

“You okay?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Peter sniffs loudly. “I jdust god back.”

“You went to class sounding like that?” Tony drops Morgan’s bedtime bottle of formula on the marble counter and swipes a hologram up from the sleek black box on the kitchen wall. “FRI, connect to Karen’s feed.”

“Sure thing, Boss. Peter, I’m coming in.”

“Noooo, whad?!?”

Peter’s dorm room pops up on the screen complete with unrolled socks--May would kill him--strewn over the bean bag chair in the corner and empty gatorade bottles piled on the desk. Peter himself is slumped on the lofted bed, head in his hands. There’s a pile of used tissues next to him.

“Pete,” Tony frowns at the screen, even though Peter isn’t looking at him. “What’s wrong.”

“Noth-ding,” he clears his throat and digs his palms into his eyes.

“Peter,” Tony crosses his arms as if the kid was in the kitchen with him to scold. “Are you sick?”

“No!” Another wet hack.

“I think you are,” Tony chuckles and turns back to Morgan’s bottle. “Did you go to class like that?”

“I didn’d hab a choice, Ton-dy,” Peter groans and squints up at Karen’s screen. “Id’s only beend a mondth.”

“Bud, if you’re sick…”

“Id’s just a cold!” Peter practically yells, far too defensively, then breaks down into a fit of coughs.

“That’s not _just_ a cold, kiddo. You look like death warmed over. I knew I should have sent Bruce early with one of your super spidey flu shots. Guess this is another thing we need to add to the list.”

“I’m nod sick!” Peter actually pounds his thin mattress like a toddler having a tantrum; Tony hears the frame creak. It’d be adorable if he didn’t look so miserable.

“Hey, no super tantrums. I don’t want to lose the dorm deposit on your room!” Tony turns to the stove to put a pot of water on, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Peter actually slump.

“I’m nod sick.”

“I think you are, bud,” Tony leans on the counter and puts a hand on his hip. “Have you called May?”

“No,” Peter pouts, wiping his nose on his sleeve despite the pile of tissues beside him. “She’ll jusd dell Mr. Rhodes.”

“Well, you know I’m obligated to tell her,” Tony flips off the burner and walks back over to the counter to grab the bottle. “And Rhodey.”

“Noooo, Ton-dy, pleas-uh.”

“Nope, them’s the rules.”

“Ton-dy…”

“No, no...we made a pact, way back when you were still itsy-bitsy--” he pulls the pan off the burner. “FRI, let me know when that’s down to 100 degrees--and it holds until I die. Then I technically think it gets handed off to Bruce, there’s a whole list, anyway,” Tony waves his hand. “Either you call May, and I’ll know if you don’t, or I call her.”

“Ugh, fine-d. I’ll call her.”

“Kar-bear, what’s Peter’s temperature?”

“Hello, Mr. Stark. Right now Peter is running a fever of 100.5.”

“Ah, just enough to be clinically relevant,” Tony crosses his arms and looks directly at the camera feed, as if Peter can see him too. “Have you taken anything?”

“Noo,” another sniff. “Id’s nodt like id’d work anyways…”

“You got me there,” Tony concedes, head cocking to the ceiling as FRIDAY announces that the water temperature has reached 100 degrees. “Ok, tell you what. You call your aunt, and as soon as Pep gets home I’ll haul a Spider Care Package to Massachusetts.” 

“Noooo, Ton-dy,” Peter groans, dropping his head back into his hands. “You’re coming-d in dwo weeks for parend’s weekend’d.”

“Well, lucky for you I don’t really have a job anymore. I am unemployed! So as soon as Pep gets back, you get the presence of my company.”

“You don’t-d hab to, Ton-dy.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tony softens his voice as he pours the water into Morgan’s bottle. “And you don’t have to unnecessarily suffer. _And_ I’ll be able to to let your professors know you may be out a few days.”

“Dat-d’s nod fair.”

“Life rarely is, bud,” Tony screws the bottle top on and shakes it. “As I’m sure you’re well aware. So, take the free point. Now, call your aunt. Karen can patch her through to us.”

“Ugh, you don’t-d hab to stay on-d da line-d.”

“No, but I’m going to,” Tony smirks to himself and opens the cupboard to see if Pepper has any chicken soup stocked.

************

The dorm hallways is relatively quiet, and Tony marvels at how much they’ve changed since he was here over three decades ago. Brightly colored name signs are taped to painted metal doors, and cut-paper equations and paperclips are hanging from the bars between the ceiling tiles. He’s sure that’s a violation of fire code and makes a note to mention something to the housing office.

He almost manages to make it to Peter’s door without being stopped, but a tall, gangly kid with acne and a ridiculous fuzzy mustache runs into him when he’s only a few steps away. He’s carrying a hand-held radio and a metal clipboard; Tony guesses RA rounds are one thing that hasn’t changed. 

“T-Tony Stark?” The boy--he is just a boy--squeaks, nearly dropping the radio. “How-why-why are you in the dorms? How did you get in?”

“I can get in anywhere I want, sir” Tony adjusts the strap of his leather tote on his shoulder, cradling the paper bag of soup and flu medication closer to his chest. “And I’m paying a visit to my kid,” he nods at the metal door a few yards away that had a bright blue and red foam sign on it that reads _“Peter Parker - Queens, NY.”_

“Parker?” The RA squeaks, turning to look at the door Tony nodded to. “Oh, wow, um, ok. We thought he was exaggerating, but wow. Holy cow--”

Tony feels a flash of anger burn red hot through his stomach. “Well, as you can see, Mister…?”

“Um, Michael.”

“ _Michael_ ,” Tony sneers, pulling off his sunglasses and shoving them inside his blazer. “He wasn’t exaggerating. Now,” he smiles, the fake media-smile he hasn’t had to pull out in quite a while, “if you’ll excuse me, I need to drop provisions off to my sick kid.”

“You-you flew from New York because Parker is sick?”

“Sure did, _Michael._ Excuse me,” Tony drops the smile and pushes past the gaping boy to Peter’s dorm room door. He raps lightly, grimacing when he hears the coughs through the cinderblock walls. “Bud?” He calls, pointedly looking back over at _Michael._

“Ugh--*cough*--id’s open, Ton-dy,” comes the weak call through the door. Tony smiles a little too big at Michael, who’s still frozen to his spot in the hall, and pushes the door open.

“Heyyy, kiddo,” Tony shuts the door quietly behind him, pointedly locking it. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked. Especially since Resident Assistant Michael is very clearly a dick.”

“Ugh, he-d’s jusd arrogant,” Peter sniffs and pulls his comforter down from where it was covering his head. “And id wads only open-d because I knew you-d were coming-d.”

“Well, I just knocked him down a peg,” Tony grins to himself and feels his way over to the desk in the dark room to set down the paper bag. He lets the laptop bag slide off his shoulder to the floor. “You mind if I turn a light on, Pete? Can’t see in the dark like you.”

“Mmmmm,” Peter groans and Tony thinks he hears the comforter being pulled back over his head. “May-d said I should-da sleep.”

“And you should,” Tony flicks on the desk lamp and tilts it so it’s facing the opposite wall, then turns the chair around so it’s facing the lofted bed. “But soup and Spider-baby medicine first.”

“Nod a baby,” Peter coughs, flinching when Tony pulls the comforter back from his face.

“Always a baby, especially when you’re sick,” and boy does he look sick. Tony doesn’t think he’s looked this bad since he was swatted out of the sky while trying to contain Loki’s alien experiment, and his eye bags are actually worse than they were then. He looks thoroughly worn through, pale and flushed, eyes glazed with fever. Tony’s heart clenches as hard as it did when Morgan had croup last month. “Your aunt wanted me to give you a kiss for her, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Mmmm,” Peter nods and tries to push himself up against his pillow. “Save your-d-self.”

Tony reaches out to help him adjust his pillows against the flimsy wooden headboard; he can feel the heat radiating off of him. “There you go, bud. Is your stomach ok?”

“Mmmm,” Peter rubs his eye and shivers, which sends a round of coughs through him. “Soup?”

“You betcha,” Tony gently rubs Peter’s sternum and turns to grab the bag off the desk. “Along with some anti-inflammatories from Bruce. They’re made for Cap, but hopefully they’ll work on you.”

“Hand-me-down-d medicine,” Peter grunts, shivering again. “Gread.”

“Best we could do on such short notice, kiddo.”

“Ids da soup from Bel-Aire?” Peter reaches out with shaking hands to take the styrofoam container of streaming liquid from Tony. He wishes he’d thought to grab one of Pepper’s lap trays.

“You know, I always forget how demanding you get when you’re sick,” Tony carefully pries the plastic lid off the soup and hands Peter a plastic spoon. “And of course it is. What do you take me for?”

“Sorry,” Peter tries to smile sheepishly. “Dank you.”

“Anytime, bud,” Tony brushes some of Peter’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Karen? What’s Pete’s temperature?”

“Peter’s current temperature is 101.3, Mr. Stark.”

“Of course it is,” he nods to himself and watches Peter shakily lift the spoon of broth to his mouth. “A few small sips of that, then we’re gonna take some Super Tylenol, ok?”

“Ok,” Peter tries to blow on the spoon, and Tony has to fight the urge to do it for him. God, between him and Morgan, Tony’s entire personality has been reduced down to a barely held together mass of emotion and _Dad Instincts_. Rhodey is right to make fun of him.

“Did you-d dell Mr. Rhodes?” Peter grimaces as he swallows the soup, but he goes back for more, so Tony will take that as a win.

“Absolutely. Swore a blood oath I would,” Tony digs through his paper bag, and pulls out a brown medicine bottle Bruce filled for him. 

“Whad did he say?”

“He nodded gravely and told me to tell you he hopes you feel better fast, and to call if you needed anything I wouldn’t get you,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Which is preposterous, seeing as you couldn’t possibly think of anything I wouldn’t get you.”

Peter tries to laugh, but it ends up in a sort of choking cough, and Tony reaches out to keep the container in Peter’s lap upright. “Whad if I asked-d for chodolade pudding-d?”

“I’d again ask what you take me for, because it’s in the bag,” Tony gently flicks Peter’s ear. It might be his imagination, but his eyes look a little brighter now that he’s had some soup. “But soup and medicine first.”

“‘K,” Peter sniffs and slowly reaches for one of the tissues on the comforter beside him. “You’re-d nod gonna sleep on da floor like you-d did wid Morgan, are you?”

“No, I brought some busy work Pep wants me to look at,” Tony scoots the chair around and down so it leans against the cinder block wall jutting out from the nook where Peter’s bed is. He props his feet up on the desk. The narrowness of the room will never not be alarming. “And your aunt made me promise to stay at least until she calls in the morning.”

“I wish dey wouldn’d make her work overnigh-d,” Peter slurps his soup loudly, which Tony is taking as a good sign. He’ll never not be amazed how quickly Peter’s body takes care of itself as soon as it gets some decent food in it.

“Perils, of being a manager, kiddo,” Tony reaches behind himself to pat Peter’s knee. “You finish what you can of that, then medicine and trying to sleep some more.”

“Mmmm,” Peter coughs again, and Tony flinches at how it rattles in his chest. He makes a note to have Karen scan him fully when he falls asleep to make sure nothing is settling in his chest. “Can we durn da ligh-d off?”

“When you’re done eating, bud,” Tony pulls his tablet and stylus out of his leather bag, flicking a hologram up into the air. He has some paperwork to go through, but he’s going to wait until Peter is asleep before pulling up the models for Morgan’s first birthday present. If he starts now the kid will never go down.

“Ok,” Peter slurps more soup off his spoon. “Danks for coming down-d, Mr. Sdark.”

Tony swings his legs down off the desk and turns to face Peter. “Really, kid? We’re back to _Mr. Stark?’”_

Peter smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, force-d of habid. Da lasd dime I was sick-d you were sdill Mr. Sdark.” 

“I’ll chalk it up to you being delirious with fever,” Tony turns back to his hologram. “Eat your soup.”

“Danks, Ton-dy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh.
> 
> That's so much better.
> 
> Now onto my creamy fresh mozzarella wrapped in prosciutto. Just think of this as Earth 199999.1


End file.
